


A Real-Life, Happily Ever After

by Queen_Andr0meda



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Courtship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revolution, Sorcerers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Andr0meda/pseuds/Queen_Andr0meda
Summary: The Bluth family had ruled over the Kingdom of Newport for generations. The King and Queen had hoped that their line might be secure for several hundred more years, but looking at their family tree didn’t inspire much confidence.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so hype for medieval AUs, I had to do this. I'll do my best to update this reasonably.
> 
> (title blatantly stolen from the Galavant song of the same name)

The Bluth family had ruled over the Kingdom of Newport for generations, but never since the beginning of their dynasty had the waters been so dicey. King George I was known for his cruel behavior and poor use of the citizens’ taxes. Much of the land was struggling whilst Queen Lucille arrived at every ball in a brand new gown. Because of this, talk of rebellion was being spread amongst the put-upon peasants. The King and Queen had hoped that their line might be secure for several hundred more years, but looking at their family tree didn’t inspire much confidence.

Crown Prince George II, known by his family as “Gob”, was complete dunce; and his parents couldn’t have been more disappointed. He was completely disinterested in becoming the next King, and never took to his lessons well. Instead, he spent his days chasing after young handmaidens, and spent his nights in taverns being enchanted by sorcerers.

Prince Michael was the one truly interested in taking the throne, but primogeniture restricted that from being a possibility. Still, as second in line, King George invested a lot of time in training his second son, in case of what he saw as the very likely event that Gob was assassinated in his first year of ruling. Michael’s duties also included overseeing the education of his own son, Prince George-Michael, a meek boy with a good head on his shoulders.

Prince Michael’s twin sister, Princess Lindsay, enjoyed every luxury that her title afforded her. This lifestyle’s only caveat was that she had to be married off to an eligible suitor. Out of the dozens of powerful Noblemen who entered the contest for her hand, it was the wholly unimpressive Lord Tobias Fünke who came out the victor. According to law, King George reluctantly allowed him to marry Lindsay. She had since been living in the Kingdom that Tobias had lordship in, providing him with only one child, A daughter. Lady Mae had grown up headstrong and defiant of the rules in place for a woman of her rank. 

The youngest son of King George and Queen Lucille was Prince Byron, known to his family as Buster. Being so far down the line of succession, he spent most of his time with tutors that were expert in whatever academic subjects he wished to become learned in. The rest of his time was spent assisting his mother with her Queenly duties.

The Kingdom of Newport was a large seaside land with rolling hills and valleys. To the north, there was the Kingdom of Balboa, ruled by the dowager Queen Lucille Austero; To the east was the Kingdom of Areata, ruled by King Stanford Sitwell. The southern Kingdom of Velasco was ruled by the Estrellas, whose eldest daughter, Princess Marta, was being courted by Prince George II of Newport.

It is into this world that this story begins.


	2. Chapter I

It was two days before Midsummer, and planning for the Bluth family’s annual three-day Ball was underway. Prince Michael was stressed. There were some final arrangements he needed to sort out; after all, there were going to be a hundred visiting dignitaries in their halls within the next 48 hours. Typically, half of those responsibilities would go to the Crown Prince, but Gob was once again nowhere to be found. Although, he had an excuse this time, and should be back soon.

Michael checked his list; his father still needed to sign off on the menu for dinner. The task was well below his station, it should have been completed by one of the cooks, but he didn’t blame Lupe for being too scared to ask the King herself. He ran up the stairs to his father’s wing of the castle, where he ran into one of the handmaidens hurriedly exiting the King’s bedchamber. Katherine Sanchez looked as though she was planning on yelling at him for being in her way before realizing who he was. She could be downright terrifying, but he figured it was worth asking her anyways.

“Kitty, hello, do you know where my father is, by chance?”

She smoothed her skirt. “That’s not, actually, any of your business.” She caught her mistake after a few moments of direct eye contact with Michael, and corrected herself, “My business. That’s not any of my business.” And with that, she’d pushed past him and disappeared.

Michael slowly opened the door to his father’s chamber and he saw the King standing in front of a mirror, fastening a clasp on his cloak. “Oh, Father, you are in here. What on earth was Kitty doing in here?”

King George turned to face his middle son, searching for the most reasonable excuse. “I’m not sure… Cleaning, perhaps?”

Michael nodded his head, unconvinced. The truth was easy enough to guess anyways. “All right, I don’t have the time to delve further into that right now. I just need you to approve the menu for tomorrow.” He passed the scroll to his father to look it over.

A servant entered the chamber, bowing low, “Your Majesty, your Royal Highness,” he announced, “The Crown Prince George II, has just arrived back.”

“Right, thank you.” George I dismissed the herald and handed the now signatured scroll back to Michael. “You may go as well, maybe talk some sense into your idiot brother.”

Michael bowed and exited the room, rushing back down the stairwell to reach the Grand Foyer before his older brother could disappear again. He got there just in time to see Prince George Oscar Bluth II stride into the palace, actively shouting about something.

“-- Your job is to make sure I get out of the carriage without tripping over this six thousand dollar cloak, come on!”

Michael had to suppress a laugh at the image of his brother falling out of his carriage. He knew how sensitive Gob was to ridicule, and that the footman was likely to be punished for the misstep. It was also very likely that Gob had it coming, though.

Gob’s angered facade dropped the second he saw little brother. Smiling wide, and crossing the hall to embrace him. “Michael! Good to see you again!”

Michael didn’t hug him back, “You were barely gone for five days, Gob.” Gob pulled back, clearly offended, so Michael asked, “How was your trip.”

This seemed to appease Gob, who began wandering God knows where as he answered, “It was absolutely exhausting! Marta kept making me go places and meet people.”

“That’s the price of courting. You should be happy that she wants to share her kingdom with you.” Michael kept up the pace with his brother as the elder Bluth presumably headed towards his chamber.

“But what’s the point, it’s _this_ kingdom she’ll be inheriting, so why does it matter if I know about hers?”

“You’re sounding awfully serious about her, Gob. Do you really think you’ll make her your Queen?”

It was a strange image, picturing his brother settling down with the widowed princess, and having heirs to grow up alongside hers. Michael had been watching Gob chase skirts since he was sixteen, and he was sure that by now there were enough bastards to form a militia.

Gob shrugged, “Why not? Mom is really pushing for it, and I might as well start producing legitimate heirs.” Gob wasn’t fully convinced with what he was saying. He did like Marta a lot, but something didn’t quite feel right. It never felt completely right with anyone. He liked to mess around with women, but the thought of settling down irked him just a little.

Michael was happy his brother was taking on this new attitude, but couldn’t help feeling bad for Marta. He’d never met her, but no one deserves to be the only one emotionally invested in a relationship. Although, he supposed that was normal; what he and Tracey had was just special. He wished for his brother to find the same kind of connection, but if he hadn't found it yet, at 34, it wasn't likely such a girl existed amongst the suitable classes; and if she did, she was probably married off by now.

“Why didn't Marta arrive with you? Mother and Father did invite her, right?” He asked. Michael had been hoping he would get the chance to meet this girl at the ball.

“Are you kidding me?” Gob chuckled, “Her chaperones would never let her ride in a carriage with me. Besides, she has some last minute things to take care of in Velasco. She’ll be arriving the day of. Now, if you don’t mind, I had a long journey and would like to retire to my chambers.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Michael grabbed his brother’s arm, “You have a lot of duties to attend to before the ball.” He handed Gob the list, and continued speaking over Gob’s groans of protest, “To start, I think Mother wanted to speak to you in the throne room.”

“Why? Mother hates talking to me as much as I hate talking to her.” Gob whined.

Michael shrugged, “I don’t know, Gob. You’re the heir to the throne, sometimes you’re going to have to talk with people you don’t like.”

“Ugh, fine! See you later then, Mikey.”

Michael bowed, which he still hated doing, and left. Gob wandered over to the Throne Room, and waited outside to be announced.

……….................................................................................................................

Queen Lucille Bluth sat on her throne, sternly observing Prince Byron’s lesson with his tutor. She had been waiting for her audience with her oldest son for an hour and she was growing inpatient. He should've been back by now, probably the fault of their incompetent staff.

A guard entered, opening his mouth to speak, but Lucille cut him off.

“It's about time, show him in.”

The guard opened the door and Gob strode in.

“What do you want, mother? I just got back, can't I get a moment to rest?” Gob complained.

Lucille glowered, clearing her throat to shut her son up. “We have some very serious matters to discuss.”

Glancing over to Buster, Gob asked, “Why’s he here? Doesn’t he have a specific room for tutoring?”

“Mother said I had to do it in here today.” He replied meekly, turning back to his studies and leaving his mother to elaborate.

“I’ve been observing Byron’s lessons to ensure that Old Milford fellow doesn’t ruin him like the rest of you kids.”

“Thank you, _Mother_.” Gob drawled sarcastically, stifling the desire to roll his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” she bit back, “now, I need to urgently speak to you about Princess Marta.”

“What about her?”

“Need I remind you how vital a union between Newport and Velasco would be? I was hoping it would be obvious, but in case you screw it up as usual, I’ll tell you; you had better propose to her at the ball, or so help me, you’d better pray the peasantry rips you to shreds. Have I made myself clear?”

Gob gulped, “Crystal clear, mother.”

Lucille smiled a sinister smile, “Excellent. Now get out of my sight and make yourself useful for once.”

Gob bowed low to his mother before rushing out of the throne room to start on that list Michael gave him. He guessed his feelings of hesitation didn’t matter anymore, he’d have to marry Princess Marta now. Either that or be killed by his own mother, apparently.

..........................................................................................................................

Prince George Michael was studying alone in his chamber. His lesson with the tutor had finished an hour ago, but he was still trying to wrap his head around it. His writing desk was scattered with scrolls, and he was quietly muttering words of defeat to himself. A knock on his door startled the young prince, and he hurried to straighten out his mess as his father, Prince Michael, entered the room.

“Hello, son,” Michael began, but stopped when he saw the pile of scrolls. “What’s all this? I thought your lessons were finished for the day?”

“They were…” George Michael stared at his lap, voice shaky. “I just couldn’t quite understand it. I’m sorry, Father.”

Michael placed his hand reassuringly on his son’s shoulder. “It’s alright, George Michael, you have time. Your Uncle Gob is next in line for the throne, and he never once finished a lesson. You should spend more time becoming better acquainted with the Kingdom.”

George Michael nodded slowly. He was hesitant, having never really left the palace without his father, but he supposed that it wasn’t such a bad idea.

The two Bluths sat in uncomfortable silence for a couple minutes before George Michael asked, “Was there a reason you came up here?”

“Yes!” Michael suddenly remembered, “I was going to tell you that your Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin will be joining us tomorrow for the festivities this week. And that, due to the amount of guests staying for the duration of the ball, I’m afraid you’ll have to share your chambers with your cousin. She can sleep in your second bedchamber.”

George Michael knew there was no use in arguing, so he just nodded again. Being the only person Michael was legally allowed to rule over meant that George Michael had very little autonomy when it came to his life. Whatever Michael said, went.

“How long are they staying?” George Michael asked, hoping he would get his space back soon.

“At least the next four nights.” Michael answered, standing to make his leave, “I should go, there are a lot of other things I must take care of. Now, why don’t you go and have an adventure, do something entertaining.”

Michael left the room before waiting for his son’s reply, so George Michael turned back to his studies.

...............................................................................................................................

The rest of the evening passed without incident. Lists were completed, lessons were understood. The next morning, King George sat on his throne, Queen Lucille on hers, the two receiving counsel from their royal advisors: Sir Bernard of Zuckerkorn and Sir Robert of Loblaw. They were, at present, debating the unrest from the peasantry.

“...And all I’m saying, your majesty, is that if changes are not made to the way this great family rules, the peasants are going to revolt and bring down this dynasty.” Sir Loblaw explained, keeping up his ever-neutral facade.

Sir Zuckerkorn scoffed. “Or maybe,” he offered, “changing our ways now, addressing the peasantry directly, will give them the idea to revolt in the first place! _And_ the mere suggestion to change undermines the very dynasty we’re trying to protect! If our king changes, then the peasants might as well have won!” As usual, his ideas weren’t very bright, but that was overshadowed by the vigor in Bernard Zuckerkorn’s speech.

King George nodded thoughtfully, considering the words before leaning in and whispering to his wife, “We’ve got the best fucking advisors.”

...............................................................................................................................

Prince Gob was hidden away in a secluded stairway, fiddling with the flint he was keeping up his sleeve. He needed to snatch a couple doves from the palace menagerie before his next show at the Ancient Castle tavern. Which reminded him that he needed to find out when that was. He’d go check that evening, when he knew his family _really_ wouldn’t miss him. It was his family that he was actively hiding from, not that they’d notice he was gone til they needed him to do something. He was hoping if he stayed tucked away he wouldn’t have to do any more boring prince work. If he wanted his mom to yell at him for being a disappointment, then he’d rather have it be because of something he actually enjoyed.

His hiding spot served him well for about an hour before Michael appeared in the stairwell.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Michael sounded upset, not that Gob cared. It was a waste of time to focus on everything Michael was upset about at any given time. He always had a cane up his ass about one thing or another.

Gob rolled his eyes and grumbled, “What do you need me to do this time?”

Michael didn’t say a word and just shoved another checklist into Gob’s hands. Gob groaned. He hated being a prince.

...............................................................................................................................

While out walking in the palace gardens, as part of the adventure that his father had mandated for him, Prince George Michael was approached by a girl he felt he should recognize. She stood next to him silently, staring at the large rosebush, her loose curls being gently blown into her freckled face. It was a beautiful tableau that was shattered when she opened her mouth.

“These flowers look like shit. You should really fire the gardener.” She commented, not breaking eye-contact with the roses.

George Michael turned to face her, realization dawning, “You’re my cousin, right? Aunt Lindsay’s daughter?”

The girl smiled, pushing her flyaway strands of hair back into place behind her ear. “Maeby.” She answered. She _was_ his cousin, Lady Mae Fünke, known as ‘Maeby’ to her parents. “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me!”

“I’ve only seen you a few times, and it’s been a while.” George Michael tried to defend himself.

Maeby looked disappointed. “Yeah, I know. I only wish I could visit here more! I hate my kingdom, it’s so boring! There’s no one to spend time with.”

George Michael just nodded.

“So,” Maeby clapped her cousin on the back and beamed, “where’s the best place to go on an adventure?”

Nervous by nature and sheltered by upbringing, George Michael was not familiar with adventure; but not wanting to disappoint his first chance at a real friend, he smiled back and gestured for her to follow him.

...............................................................................................................................

In the grand foyer, the heralds were announcing the entrance of Lord Tobias Fünke and his wife, Lady Lindsay. Michael had been waiting for their arrival near the door for half an hour, and hurried to embrace his sister. He had missed her greatly since she’d gotten married and moved several kingdoms away. She was the only member of his family who didn’t drive him absolutely mad, but she had only visited a few times in last fifteen years.

“Lindsay, thank God you're here! How was your journey?”

Lindsay wrapped her thin arms around her twin’s neck. “It was great! It's so good to see you, Michael!”

As they separated, Michael glanced to Tobias. Making eye contact with him and nodding a greeting. Lord Tobias, as the law obligated him to, bowed low to his brother-in-law.

“Good day, Prince Michael.” The diminutive Lord said with a flourish. He opened his mouth to speak further, but was cut off

“So,” Lindsay interrupted her husband, addressing Michael again, “where is Father? I'm dying to see him again!”

Now that was one thing he and Lindsay never agreed on. Growing up, Lindsay had been their Father's little princess -- in a literal sense. She had a carefree childhood, where Michael was controlled under the King’s strict thumb.

“He's in the throne room with Mother.” He told her. Then, not wanting to get stuck with Tobias, added, “I'll join you.”

Taking her arm, he led her down the hall and the pair caught up.

“How _are_ things with Tobias?” He asked. He had always been confused as to why their Father allowed the union, there were plenty more-suitable suitors vying for her hand. But he supposed his Father couldn't go back on his word. Tobias, perhaps out of sheer luck, won the contest, so that was that. Lindsay probably only went through with it without complaint to stick it to their disapproving parents.

Lindsay sighed. “It's not great,” She admitted. “We get along just fine. But we haven't… you know… _become intimate_ … in years. Plus, Tobias has been having issues with the monarch in our kingdom and I'm worried his lordship will be revoked and we'll have to flee.”

“Well,” Michael offered, “I'm sure if that happens, Father will give him a lordship here.” Lindsay nodded, reassured, but she remained quiet; so Michael continued. “How's Mae? She's fourteen years now, isn't she?”

She shrugged, “Who knows?”

“I know I would if she was my daughter.” Michael muttered, rolling his eyes just a little bit.

“Don't get on that high-horse with me, Michael. She's at an age where she doesn't want anything to do with us. We're lucky if we get a few words from her on any given day. She's far too independent for her own good.”

“Maybe she'll be a good influence on my son. George Michael could use some confidence.” The two shared a smile as they approached the guard in front of the throne room. “Could you tell the King that Lady Lindsay has arrived?”

...............................................................................................................................

Prince George Michael was still wandering around the gardens. Maeby had suggested they play a game that involved her hiding and George Michael finding her. He’d been looking for a while now, so he figured she must be pretty good at this game.

But, alas, as it turned out he was just bad at it, because he came across Maeby near the back of the palace grounds, not hidden at all. She was standing in the open, talking to someone he only recognized in passing. Upon approaching the two figures, it dawned on George Michael that it was one of the gardeners, a boy only a few years older than the Prince.

When the boy saw George Michael, his eyes went wide and he bowed, a rushed “Your Highness” slipping out of his mouth. George Michael indicated for the other boy to rise.

“Hey, George Michael, took you long enough!” Maeby greeted. “Have you met Stephen Holt before?”

The gardener, now known as Stephen Holt, mouthed words that appeared to be his name repeated, but otherwise stayed silent. George Michael shook his head no.

Stephen Holt considered himself to be a lucky person. Sure, his mom was dead and he had no father, but at least he had a good job and a little shack on the palace grounds to call his own. His mother was a young lady in waiting working for the Queen, but had passed away from disease shortly after giving birth to him. He didn’t know anything about his father, besides the fact that he must have also worked at the palace. Perhaps he still did, for all Stephen knew.

“Oh well,” Lady Maeby told the Prince, “Let’s get out of here and find something more interesting to do.”

She grabbed her cousin by the hand, pulling him away. The young prince turned his head and waved a goodbye to the gardener he had just met, who bowed again in return before turning back to his work, then George Michael turned his focus back to wherever Maeby might be taking him.

...............................................................................................................................

Much, much later, as the sun was saying it’s last goodnights, Prince Gob found himself on his horse, riding hastily towards the town centre. He pulled up in front of an old tavern called “The Ancient Castle.” Finding an open post at the front of the building, he tied up his horse and entered.

The tavern was a bustle with activity. It was a popular stop for travellers and the most exciting subjects Newport had to offer. Or at least the most exciting in Gob’s opinion. He approached the largest table, where all the local sorcerers took their drink. Gob hoped to earn their respect with his magic, and so he kept his royal identity hidden from them; it was a good thing Gob never attended any of the public royal outings he was obligated to be a part of.

One of the sorcerers, a particularly sour one name Rollo, rolled his eyes and groaned when he saw Gob. “Not you again. I thought your last failure would have driven you away for good. You don’t have the magic in you, kid.”

Gob tried not to visibly pout. He should have told them he was the prince, maybe they would be nicer to him. The knowledge that he was legally allowed to have them executed if they overstepped was always reassuring, so he just cleared his throat. “Give me one more chance to prove myself. I’ve gotten better.”

The Band of Sorcerers leaned in and started discussing Gob’s fate. After a couple minutes of deliberation, the drew back and Rollo addressed Gob again. “Fine. We _do_ need an opener for a special performance tomorrow evening, and you’re suitably amateur enough to make him look better.”

Gob smiled wide, but then the words caught up with him and he had to ask, “Special performance?”

“A travelling sorcerer has rolled into town, it’s said he’s the greatest in the world. His name’s Antony Wonder.”

 _Damn_. Even his name sounded magical. He had to do this show. If he pulled it off, it could make him famous. Then he remembered. “And the show is… tomorrow?” He clarified. He had almost forgotten about the ball, and the Princess he was supposed to escort there, the same Princess that he was expected to propose to by the end of Midsummer.

“Does this incredibly generous opportunity we’re allowing not work for you?” Rollo raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m sure there are plenty of others who would die for that spot.”

“No, no!” Gob insisted. “I’ll make it work. I have to.” He nodded to the sorcerers before turning on his heel and striding out of the tavern.

He had to make it work. Forget his parent’s stupid party. He was going to prove them all wrong and make that _Antony Wonder_ look like a damn fool if it was the last thing he did.


	3. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has full smut at the end, so keep that in mind

The next morning, after their breakfast together in the great hall, Gob caught Michael as he was leaving and pulled him into a side corridor to talk. Gob had a huge favour to ask his little brother, and he knew Michael wasn’t going to like it.

“What the Hell? Gob, what are you doing, you scared me?” Michael pushed his brother.

“Shut up, Michael, I need to talk to you. It’s about the ball tonight.” Gob whispered harshly.

Michael sighed, “What about the ball? Is this about Princess Marta? Are you chickening out of your responsibilities again? That is just typical you, Gob.”

“I’m glad you brought up Marta…” Gob hesitated, inciting a groan from Michael, “I’m not chickening out! That’s not the problem. I’ll propose to her by the end of Midsummer, just like Mother wants. It’s just tonight. See, I’m supposed to go to the party with Marta, but I also just got offered the opportunity of a lifetime to show the Sorcerers that I’m good at magic, for tonight only so I have to take it.”

“Wow. Great predicament you got yourself into there. You know, I personally would have escorted the beautiful Princess to the ball--” Michael was cut off by Gob hugging him.

“Thank you, Michael! I knew you’d come through for me!” Gob released his brother and began hurrying away.

“Wait, how’d I come through for you?” Michael called after Gob, “How did I come through for you, Gob?”

“See you later, Michael!” Was the last thing Gob said before disappearing down the corridor.

………………………………………………………………….

Lady Maeby Fünke had managed to drag her stick-in-the-mud cousin outside the castle walls. He didn’t know where they were going, but she dragged him along, maintaining a firm grip on his wrist. She’d heard about this place from Stephen Holt yesterday, apparently it was full of dangerous and mysterious creatures. The kind of stuff she’d have to face if she ever wanted to become a knight; she and Stephen had that in common, but both of them were disadvantaged. Stephen was a strong, young man, but he was also at the very bottom of the class structure; Maeby, on the other hand, was already nobility, but also a woman. Had she been a man, she'd have gotten a knighthood the second she asked for one, instead of just being laughed off. This little expedition with George Michael was probably the closest a woman of her rank could get to adventure, but even then it wasn't technically something she was supposed to be doing.

“Maeby! Where are we going?” George Michael asked in a whiny voice.

“Alright. So,” she responded, “have you heard of Sudden Valley?”

George Michael _had_ heard of Sudden Valley, called so because of bad things famously happening all of a sudden. His grandfather had once tried to build a second castle there; but shoddy workmanship, plus a sinkhole, had caused it to collapse not too long after its construction. George Michael stopped in his tracks, “Why are we going to Sudden Valley?”

“That's easy: adventure, George Michael.” Maeby said, “Now, come on!” She pulled on his wrist again, but he didn't budge. “Don't be a baby.”

He frowned, “I'm not being a baby… I just don’t have a death wish. Do you even know what’s in there?”

“Uh, no. That's what I want to find out.” Maeby rolled her eyes, but tried a different approach. “You know, Stephen Holt wouldn't be afraid.”

 _God._ _What was so special about Stephen Holt?_  George Michael thought. Maeby kept talking about him ever since they had met yesterday, and George Michael didn't know why. “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly and began walking again.

“And who knows,” Maeby joked, “If you're really brave, you might win a kiss from this fair maiden.”

George Michael started walking faster.

………………………………………………………………….

Prince Michael had wandered into town, although he couldn’t really remember why. He probably was there to find those Sorcerers that Gob was so obsessed about and tell them to back off. Gob already had too many distractions even without delusions of being magic. Michael wasn’t really sure where to find them though. He was so busy looking at store signs, trying to notice anything suspicious, that he walked right into a blind beggar on the street.

“Watch where you’re going, ass.” She snapped. To which Michael would have retaliated, had he not noticed her cane and tinted spectacles. She looked in his general direction, long, dark hair falling in her face

Instead, he just apologized, “I’m very sorry, ma'am.” He put a coin in her cup before stepping around her and continuing down the street.

The blind woman hobbled away, into a nearby alley, up to a back door. Knocking seven times in succession, the door swung open and someone yanked her into the building.

“Jesus, Jarvis,” She complained as the door closed behind her, “you don’t have to keep doing that, I’m not really blind you know.” She tossed her cane to the ground and removed her spectacles. “It’s also not very professional. Isn’t _that_ what you’re all about or something?”

Jarvis nodded, “You’re right, that was unprofessional. I’ll just let you walk in next time.” He let the not-so-blind woman settle in before asking, “Did you find anyone else interested in the cause?”

Wynston Jarvis was formerly a Royal Advisor for the Bluth family, but after he was betrayed by Bernard Zuckerkorn and fired thereafter, he had been working as a leader of the uprising alongside Margaret Lizer. She had tried to work her way into an advising position, she _was_ infinitely smarter than most of the men who pass through the Royal Court, but they all thought a woman advisor was some kind of joke.

“Yeah,” she said, “I found some people over in Santa Ana that want to join. Also, I just ran into Prince Michael outside.”

“Really? What was he doing?”

“Going around, running into people like the privileged asshole he is. Other than that, I have no idea.”

Jarvis frowned, which was about as expressive as he got -- the reason that Lizer was in charge of recruitment. “Do you think he’s trying to find our base?”

Margaret laughed, “God, no. That whole family is too stupid to be on to us yet. Probably just a coincidence.”

“Well let’s hope.” Jarvis was solemn, “Secrecy is vital to the downfall of the Bluths.”

Maggie nodded, putting her blind-beggar disguise back on and left to continue her rounds.

………………………………………………………………….

Back at the palace, Gob Bluth was pacing around the grand foyer. Marta should be here any moment, and he was nervous for her to meet his family. He was even more nervous to propose and potentially spend the rest of his life with her. The palace doors swung open, and a guard entered.   
“Presenting Her Royal Highness Princess Marta Estrella of Velasco.” The guard announced in a booming voice, stepping aside to allow the Princess to enter.

Princess Marta Estrella stepped into the foyer, nervously. Gob ran up to her, the two pausing in front of one another, holding back under the strict gaze of Marta’s chaperone. Gob bowed low, out of respect, “Good day, your highness.”

She smiled and curtsied in return, “And to you, My Prince.” Her accent made the words sound more poetic than they were, and it enchanted Gob. He offered her his arm and, after a quick glance to her chaperone, she took it, allowing Gob to escort her to the throne room where his parents were waiting to meet her.

“I know it’s only been two days, Gob, but I missed you,” she admitted shyly, a blush warming her cheeks. “The boys will be arriving with my parents and brothers later this evening. I'm looking forward to attending the ball on your arm.”

“About that…” Gob rubbed the back of his neck, shamefully, “Something came up… rebellion stuff I need to take care of. I'll be arriving late.” The lie was masterful and Marta bought it completely.

Her face fell, “Oh no! That's terrible! Please stay safe, Gob.” She touched his arm gently.

“Don't worry about dancing alone, though,” he assured her, “my brother, Prince Michael, has promised to escort you in my stead. But save a few dances for me, alright?”

Marta let a small smile grace her gentle face, “I will.”

………………………………………………………………….

Prince George Michael sat alone in the dining room of The Good Shepherd Inn. As it turned out he wasn’t braver than Stephen Holt and chickened out at the first sign of danger. Maeby had wanted to explore Sudden Valley, with or without George Michael. He supposed it might have been irresponsible or less than chivalrous to leave her there alone, but it was overwhelmingly frightening there.

A girl, roughly George Michael’s age, sat down across the table from him. Her face was pretty, if a little plain; and she stared at him curiously for a minute before speaking up. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Oh,” George Michael was taken aback, “no this is my first time here. I don’t get out much. Does your family run this inn?”

“Yes, my uncle does. My father is the local preacher. I’m Ann Veal.” She introduced herself.

“I’m Prince George Michael,” he smiled at her warmly, seeing no reason to conceal his identity. She stood up quickly and curtseyed.

“I’m sorry, your highness. I didn’t realize who you were. Please forgive me.”Ann begged.

George Michael reached out to wave her out of her bow, “Stop, you don’t have to apologize. But would you do me the honour of attending the Midsummer Ball at the palace with me?”

She gasped, but nodded vigorously, as she sat down at the table again and struck up a conversation with the young prince.

………………………………………………………………….

As hours passed, a hundred guests from all of the surrounding kingdoms began to arrive. Soon the ball was starting and the Crown Prince was nowhere to be found. Princess Marta approached his brother, Prince Michael. He froze when he saw her, struck by her beauty.

“You're Prince Michael, right?” She asked. The man bore a resemblance to Gob, but Michael was the only one of Gob’s siblings that she hadn’t met yet.

“Yes, I'm Michael,” he replied, slowly coming back to reality, “who are you?”

She curtseyed, “Princess Marta Estrella of Velasco. Apparently you're supposed to escort me to this ball while Gob deals with some rebel threat. He said he really appreciates you coming through for him.”

“Is that what he said?” Michael already knew Gob’s excuse was a lie. “And this is how I'm coming through for him?” It honestly seemed like a win-win. He would get to have an evening without Gob driving him crazy, plus he would have the company of a lovely princess. “It would be my honour to escort you, your highness.” He bowed, before taking her arm and leading her into the ballroom.

The ballroom was filled with people talking and dancing. King George was arguing with King Stanford Sitwell of their Eastern neighbor, the Kingdom of Areata, over who would control a piece of neutral land they had helped conquer. Michael’s eye trailed around the room and he saw King Sitwell’s daughter and only heir, Princess Sally. She was beautiful, and Michael had been kind of in love with her as a child, but then he fell for Tracey and had forgotten about Sally. He quickly tore his eyes away from her, and found his mother instead. Queen Lucille Bluth was having a conversation with her friend, and ruler of Balboa to the North, Queen Lucille Austero; although that was likely more of an argument as well. His sister, Princess Lindsay, was standing with Tobias near the minstrels looking bored out of her mind. Prince George Michael didn’t appear to have arrived yet, but he still had plenty of time. Michael knew where Prince Gob was, and he couldn’t believe his brother was able to get away with it.

Michael looked at Marta, “Would you like to dance, your highness?”

………………………………………………………………….

Prince Gob arrived back at the Ancient Castle Pub in time for his performance. As he set up for his act on the pub’s impromptu stage, he noticed a bigger crowd then usual. This was going to be his big break. The Sorcerers would finally recognize that he was meant to be on of them. He was ready for his life to change for the better and to finally get the respect he felt he deserved.

Rollo stood at the front of the stage to announce him, “And now, a ‘sorcerer’-” he chuckled sarcastically, “- named Gob.” They mispronounced his name, probably on purpose, but Gob was too excited to care.

He took to his stage with a dramatic flourish, “Hello, everyone! Are you ready to see some magic?” Gob was met with dead silence. He cleared his throat awkwardly and continued with his first illusion.

His show was… a complete and utter failure. His doves had died for flowers to doves, which meant he also wasn’t able to perform doves to rabbit. To make matters worse, his sleeve-flint went off suddenly and lit his flowers on fire. The crowd responded with rigorous boos; and as the barkeep cleared away his mess, Gob slunk off dejectedly to the back of the pub.

Rollo took to the stage once more and said, “And now for a _real_ sorcerer.” Gob rolled his eyes. “I _wonder_ where he is?”  
There was a bang with flash of light, a cloud of smoke arose from the stage and through the smoke a man appeared. “Did somebody say Wonder?” He said. Gob caught his breath and couldn’t help but stare in awe of this strange sorcerer.

Each of the man’s illusions went off perfectly, much to Prince Gob’s annoyance. He made food appear from his skin, was able to disappear and reappear somewhere else, and much more that Gob never saw. He left the pub, fuming, before Antony Wonder’s demonstration had finished and now he was sulking in the alley. This was supposed to be his night, and he blew it; just like how he’s blown his entire life. Can’t cut it as a Prince, can’t cut it as a Sorcerer. He figured he might as well head back to that palace since there was nothing keeping him in town anymore. Then the side door opened and the man of the evening, Antony Wonder, slipped out into the alley. When he noticed Gob, he stopped short.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was out here, I just needed some fresh air,” He grinned a winning smile. “There’s so many people wanting to talk to me, it can get a bit crowded.” Gob rolled his eyes and scoffed, which was when Antony recognized him. “You’re that first act who couldn’t do a single thing right.”

Gob blushed, embarrassed, “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Antony patted Gob’s arm like he was a child, “it all seemed like beginner mistakes, you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“I’ve been doing this for years, actually.” Gob bristled at the patronization from this man who was very much his own age.

“Oh,” the travelling sorcerer chuckled, “Now it makes sense why that Rollo fellow was calling you a waste of time. I thought it was a harsh criticism for a novice,” he stepped closer to Gob, effectively cornering the prince against the alley wall. “But now I see you’re just a lousy fraud of a magician, who won’t amount to anything.”

The Prince pointed his finger sternly in Antony’s face, “You’re not allowed to talk to me like that, you delusional ass.”

Antony raised an eyebrow, looking Gob up and down, “And what exactly are you planning to do about it? You can’t even turn a bouquet of flowers into doves without messing that up.”

Gob raised his hand to slap the fiend across the face -- the very least he was entitled to when facing treason like this -- but Antony caught Gob’s hand by the wrist as it descended. Gob’s breath stopped as the two men stood frozen, staring at each other as the tension rose. Then, before Gob knew it, Antony was yanking the arm towards him, connecting their lips in an instant. Gob gasped a little as Antony pressed him against the wall, the shorter man’s hand travelling from Gob’s neck down his chest, making an attempt to deepen the kiss by running his tongue across Gob’s bottom lip. Gob’s mouth opened with a little moan and he pushed Antony away.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gob asked, out of breath.

“I’m putting you in your place,” the other man said, looking up at Gob with hungry eyes, “plus you’re hot.” He shrugged and then his mouth was back on Gob’s.

Gob was confused to say the least. On the one hand, it felt amazing-- better than he'd ever felt kissing a woman; but on the other hand, this was so very illegal; and he knew that despite being the heir to the throne, his parents probably wouldn't hesitate at this chance to execute him and make Michael king.  But he closed his eyes and let Antony kiss him anyway.

Antony pressed against the taller man as their mouths moved together, their tongues boldly exploring the new territory. He felt Gob’s groin stiffen against his leg, and Gob moaned into their kiss. Gob started pulling at the bottom of Antony’s tunic, causing Antony to pull away. Gob found himself whining, which he hated himself for.

“Here,” Antony dropped a key in Gob’s hand. “The Good Shepherd Inn, room two. You’d better be lying on that bed when I get up there in ten minutes.” Then he walked back into the pub, leaving Gob alone in the alley.

Gob stared at his hand for a long time. Was this really something that was happening? Why did he did he want it so badly? He was supposed to go to the ball now, but somehow this felt more urgent.

He thought about it for another minute, then his fist closed around the key.

………………………………………………………………….

At the palace, Prince Michael was finding that he enjoyed Princess Marta’s company much more than he was expecting. She was intelligent and sensitive and valued. They had been dancing for a while and had found a place to sit down for a moment. Michael watched as Marta looked at the door of the ballroom with a sad frown.

“What’s wrong?” He asked her.

Marta sighed, “I know Gob has important business to attend to, stopping the uprising and all; but I was really hoping he’d show up eventually.”

“Well, I’m sure he will… there’s still time.” Michael tried to comfort her, but he really wasn’t sure.

“I don’t think he understands the value of commitment… and family. But that’s all that really matters. Does that make sense?” She looked up at Michael, tears pricking at her eyes.

Michael felt an ache in his heart. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced since Tracey died, and all he wanted to do was make her feel better. “I couldn’t agree more.”

………………………………………………………………….

Prince Byron was unhappy with his mother. This was a rare occurrence given how much he typically worshipped her. She had been more vicious than usual today, probably due to the stress, and she had really taken it out on him. She had rejected the first seven outfits he had tried on, and insulted several of his favourite doublets. He was now standing in the ballroom in clothes that he hated, visionless because apparently he looks like a reptile with his glasses on.

Because of that, when a servant handed him a note from an admirer, propositioning him to dance, Buster felt compelled to accept. That would show Mother. He looked around the room to find the source of the note, but without his glasses, the search was more or less fruitless. That is, until he saw a pointy-brownish area approaching him.

As the brownish area, with the points, got closer, Buster saw that it was mother’s friend, Queen Lucille Austero. He bowed, out of respect. “Good evening, your majesty,” he said.

She smiled, “Good evening, Prince Byron. Did you give my proposal any thought?”

“Your what?” Buster was confused, and he hoped she didn't mean what he thought she did.

“You got my note, didn't you?” She asked, laughing cheerfully. “I would like to dance with you.”

So she _did_ mean what Buster thought. He felt his heart hammering in his chest, and his breath quicken. His collar suddenly felt too tight. He wasn't sure how he was obligated to answer. “I- Uh, it would be my honour Queen Austero.”

“Please,” she leaned forward and took Buster’s hands, “call me Lucille.”

“Oh,” Buster said awkwardly, face growing hot, “that's my mom's name.”

The second Lucille just laughed again, before pulling Buster amongst the crowd of dancing couples.

………………………………………………………………….

Antony Wonder hadn't expected this. He certainly hadn't planned to kiss that alarmingly beautiful man in the alley, and he really hadn't thought said man would be into that. But seriously, how was he _that_ attractive? Nearly every person Antony had come across in this kingdom was horribly bedraggled; a side effect of the awful economy. But this man was well  dressed in bright colours with impeccable personal grooming. It made Antony wonder what sort of man he was. Perhaps he was a well off merchant, who spent most of his time on other shores. It probably wasn’t worth dwelling on, but he couldn’t get the man out of his head.

Antony quickly finished up with the Sorcerers, grabbing a bottle of oil off the bar on his way out of the pub.

Prince Gob, meanwhile, easily found Antony’s room in the inn and was now sitting on the bed questioning every decision he made that led him to this point. He exhaled shakily, smoothing out the fabric of his trousers, unsure of what to do while he waited.

Just as Gob was considering leaving, the door swung open to reveal Antony, smirking and holding up the bottle of wine he stole from the inn. “Did somebody say wonder?”

Gob caught his breath. “No, I didn’t,” he whispered, eyes wide.

Antony laughed, “You’re funny.” He descended onto the bed, putting his bottles down on his way, crashing his lips against Gob’s. Gob moaned as their mouths moved together, opening to allow each other’s tongues to explore the new territory. Antony worked his fingers into Gob’s hair, while the other hand travelled down to his waist, Gob’s hands remained steadfastly at either side of Antony’s face. After a few minutes of that, Antony pulled away slightly, murmuring breathlessly into Gob’s mouth, “Do you want some wine?” Gob nodded vigorously. Antony uncorked the bottle, taking a swig before handing it to Gob, who took an easier sip. They went back to kissing and Antony’s hands began absently undoing the buttons of Gob’s doublet, removing it and tossing it to the floor. He separated their kiss long enough to pull Gob’s chemise over his head, letting it fall as he pushed Gob back onto the bed.

Gob’s cheeks were burning as Antony climbed on top of him, straddling him and grinding their hips together. His back arched as he moaned with pleasure. This was all so degrading; as a prince he should overpowering this man, but for some reason he didn’t want to. “What are we- Ah! -What are we doing?” He asked, eyes still wide as he looked up at Antony.

The movement of Antony’s hips stopped. “I’m going to have sex with you… I thought that was obvious.”

“Yeah, I-I know but… how?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Antony said, leaning down to kiss Gob’s neck, “I’ll take care of you.”

Gob whimpered and Antony latched on, sucking at his neck. He was already extremely hard so he reached down to touch himself, only to have his hand slapped away by Antony. Gob watched helplessly as Antony climbed off him and started stripping down, he indicated for Gob to start taking his trousers off, which he eagerly complied to. When Antony got back on the bed, he began stroking Gob lightly, causing the prince to gasp.

“Oh, Antony,” the moan was barely above a whisper.

Antony leaned close, “You can just call me Tony,” he said, sucking on Gob’s earlobe. Gob nodded and Tony pulled away, gabbing Gob’s hips and lifting them onto his lap; Gob instinctively wrapped his legs around Tony’s waist. Tony grabbed the bottle of oil he had nicked from the pub, coating his fingers and pushing one into Gob. The prince’s face tensed, biting his lip. “Is this okay?” Tony asked, Gob nodded again. Tony moved his finger inside of Gob, adding a second one after a minute. He pumped his fingers inside Gob, curling and separating them, drawing the most exquisite moans from Gob’s throat. He stopped another couple minutes later. “Are you ready for more?” Tony bent down and kissed Gob’s lips, trailing more down his neck.

“Oh, yes!” Gob gasped, “If it feels as good as that, I’m ready for anything.” Tony oiled himself up and lined himself up with Gob’s entrance, pushing in slowly. Gob’s features tensed, letting out a hushed “Oww.” It was a natural response, so Tony continued, carefully watching Gob’s face for signs of real pain or discomfort. He paused when he was fully inside him, waiting until Gob adjusted a little bit more. Then he began thrusting, slow at first, and he watched as the other man’s face changed into one of pleasure; a moan escaped Gob’s lips.

As Tony’s thrusts deepened, going faster as well, Gob’s moans grew louder and more frequent. Both of them were moving in sync, and didn’t even need words to make each other feel good. Within a couple minutes, Prince Gob’s back was arching and he felt himself drawing near his peak. It was then, sensing what was coming, that Antony drew back, pulling out of Gob carefully. The other man whined in protest.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to stop there, Tony,” Gob pointed out, out of breath.

“That’s because I’m not done with you yet.” Antony’s voice was so intense it made Gob inhale sharply. His lips travelled down Gob’s chest, and further down until they wrapped around his manhood. Gob gasped, looking down at Antony in shock.

“What are you- Oh!” Gob tried to ask before being cut off by his own moans, drawn from his throat by Tony’s head bobbing up and down. He barely lasted another minute, then he was spilling into Tony’s mouth. Antony swallowed, reaching down to finish himself off, finding the sight of Gob’s body writhing with residual pleasure to be quite enthralling. He collapsed next to Gob when he was done, the two catching their breaths.

“That was…” Gob began, trying to find the words to describe it, “… Utterly magical.” It came out as a dreamy sigh, making Tony feel quite self-satisfied.

He chuckled, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I know I certainly did.” He placed his hand on Gob’s thigh, the two staying there silently for a few minutes.

Gob curled into Tony, kissing his neck. He would give a lifetime in a palace just to stay like this forever. Then he remembered, sitting bolt upright. “Shit,” He mumbled under his breath, getting up and getting his clothes together.

“Where are you going? Stay the night here!” Tony insisted, reaching for Gob’s arm.

“I’d love to, Antony, but I forgot I was supposed to be at the palace by now!” He struggled back into his trousers and doublet, trying to get ready.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “What business do you have at the palace this late?” Gob turned, his hand on the door, a sly smile on his lips. Before he left to return to his everyday life; before opening the door and disappearing into the night, Prince George Oscar Bluth II said one last thing to his brand new lover. Three words that would change everything.

“I’m a Prince.”


End file.
